


Stone One

by posingasme



Series: Rock, River, Tree [2]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Bipolar Disorder, Gen, M/M, Manic Depressive Disorder, Sam Winchester and Mental Health Issues
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-08
Updated: 2017-03-11
Packaged: 2018-09-22 20:00:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 8,679
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9623240
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/posingasme/pseuds/posingasme
Summary: Some time after Another Storm Weathered, Sam has to face the fact that his chosen lifestyle is not good for his mental health. Castiel has sacrificed for him. Now he needs to take charge of his own wellbeing.





	1. Strength of the Stone

Sam had rarely seen his mild, loving husband truly angry. It was a quiet chill, with searing blue eyes like ice, and it made Sam shiver upon seeing it. 

“Hey, cadet. What's wrong?”

A dark brow raised, adding to the severity on the beautiful face. “Sam, I need you to be honest right now.”

He bit back a sharp response to that. He knew Castiel wasn't judging his character, but was acknowledging that Sam knew as well as he did that there were times when the truth was tangled beneath Sam's present state of mind. “About what?”

“Did you take out a line of credit in your brother's name?”

Sam's heart dropped. Flashes of memory flooded through him, and he began breathing shallowly. “I...I don't know.”

Castiel waited. He was in the doorway, as if he couldn't bring himself to enter the bedroom before he got his answers. 

Shame flushed Sam's face a dark scarlet. “Cas, I don't know. I thought about it. It was back when-”

“When I caught you with our credit cards, and I shredded them.”

“Yeah,” he responded miserably. “Yeah, I-I remember thinking Dean had always supported my ideas. And if you wouldn't let me use our money, Dean wouldn't mind...God, Cas. How much did I…”

Castiel sighed heavily, and at last he approached his husband in their bed. “You charged about three thousand dollars on equipment for the theatre, and another six hundred on random things. But it all went to the billing address, so Dean is going to see how much of it can be returned.”

Sam tossed his book aside and curled his knees up to his chest. “Jesus. I gotta call him.”

“Not right now. He's going to sleep.”

He closed his eyes. “Cas, I'm so sorry. I'll pay him for-”

“Dean's trying to refinance his house, Sam. Taking out and running up a line of credit in his name might have cost him a lot more than just thirty-six hundred dollars. And even if we're very lucky, and it doesn't change anything for his refi, I can't pay him thirty-six hundred dollars. If he can't return those things for a full refund, we’re all going to be in a bind.”

“I've got some-”

“No!” Castiel snapped. “You don't! You don't have any savings!”

Tears sprang to Sam's eyes. “Cas, I'm so-”

His husband turned to his dresser and leaned on it. “Sam, it has to stop. You've got to find another medication, or a different doctor or...or something. I'm trying everything I know, but I need to go a few months without a crisis. Even a few weeks. I'm up for a promotion at work, and that will help, but if I can't concentrate because I'm constantly…”

The deep voice faded off, but Sam knew what was left unsaid. “You're constantly cleaning up after your husband's last mistakes, and dreading the next ones.”

The eyes were weary now. The ice storm never lasted. Sometimes Sam wished it would, wished the man would lash out, scream and shake him. But that would never be Castiel. “Sam, I'm just tired. I'm sorry. We’ll talk more in the morning. Let's sleep now. Everything will be fine.”

Sam suddenly wanted sleep badly too. “I'll make it okay. I promise. I'm stable for now, and I'll fix it. Come on. Get ready for bed, Cadet.”

A small smile accompanied the nod. “Give me just a moment, General,” he sighed, and he began his evening routines which never varied, never changed in the slightest. 

He was Sam's rock. And Sam knew how strong Castiel was, but he also knew how volatile his own nature was, and he was terrified that one day, the stone would finally crack under the weight of loving Sam. He couldn't let that happen. Castiel deserved so much more, so much better. 

How many times had Castiel been passed over for this promotion, simply because he took more leave than other officers? Castiel was everything his superiors wanted-disciplined, efficient, capable. He led others with quiet confidence, and his true talents lay in directing operations. His comprehension of every logistical angle of every operation he had been a part of made him the perfect choice for elevation to Major as an assistant director of operations, overseeing flight missions in the field. 

And yet, he remained a Captain. 

Sam would never be able to forget the time Castiel had graciously taken to dinner the last man who had been promoted over him. While his husband fetched another round of drinks, the other officer had turned on Sam. 

“Well, this is as much a victory for you as it is for me, isn't it?” Bartholomew had hissed through a set of perfect teeth. 

He had frowned. “I don't understand.”

“This was Castiel's job. You know that, right? Should've been. But he's not willing to make the sacrifices some of us are.”

Anger sparked in Sam's eyes as he stared at the man. “Cas has been in more combat operations than-”

“More than you want him to be. I get it. That's why you're doing everything you can to keep him planted where he is. Cas will take a bullet to the chest, but he won't do a thing for his career if it means letting you down. And that's just admirable, isn't it? For him, I mean. He works harder than any of us, but you need him, and off he flies. He's a family man. We get that. It's just a shame he had to marry a selfish drama queen who doesn't have an ounce of respect for his career. Congratulations, Sam. You’ve managed to keep him tied to a rank he should've passed three years ago, probably for another two years. Must be gratifying to see all your hard work come to fruition like this.”

Sam had stared in disbelief and horror at the accusation. 

“And, hey, I appreciate it. Everyone knows Castiel's the better man for the job. But I don't have anybody weighing me down like he's got. So thanks.” Bartholomew winked at Sam as Castiel returned to the table with a soft smile and three beers. 

His stomach lurched as his husband gave him a look of concern. “Are you all right, Sam?”

He had tried to smile back, and failed. “Just-just tired.”

The blue eyes softened immediately. “We can go if you're not feeling well.”

Bartholomew’s smug, quiet laugh into his beer made Sam feel like throwing up. “No. No, you stay. I...I'm just going to get some air.”

He had only walked a few paces out into the moonlight before a strong arm slipped around his waist. Castiel let the keys jingle in his hand. “I'm tired too. And I'm not the one who can keep up a casual conversation with someone when I'm tired. Not like you always can.”

Sam had not completely regained the breath Bartholomew had knocked out of him. “You're better than you think,” he murmured. 

“Bart said to tell you he hopes you feel better.”

He glowered down at his feet while they walked. “How thoughtful.” Sam climbed into the car and stared sullenly out the window. 

As they pulled out, Castiel put a light hand on his thigh. “Thank you for coming. I know you've had a long week at casting. But it's always easier to socialize when you're with me. I don't know. I can work all day every day with these guys, then I'm at a complete loss when it comes to having a beer with them. The only guy I ever truly felt comfortable with is Dean. So...thanks, General.”

He nodded. “Cas? Do guys who aren't married go through the ranks faster?”

There was a pause, then Castiel cleared his throat. “Maybe a little. Some of them. Most officers...It depends on a lot of factors. They don't have to station you where you want to be, but they try. A lot of guys have to transfer to another base for the opportunity to climb in rank. But-but yeah. I guess guys without spouses tend to climb faster.”

“But not always.”

“No, of course not. Some married guys, lots of them with kids, they-”

“They get there just as fast.”

He felt Castiel's hand slip away. “Sam, are you...I'll get my promotion. I've been close several times. I didn't realize it bothered you. Me still being a captain.”

Sam turned to stare at him, but the blue eyes stayed decidedly focused on the road. He shook his head. “Cas, it doesn't bother me!”

His husband licked at his pink lips and nodded. “It does. I can hear it in your voice. And you should know...Colonel Anael approached me recently, and-and I think she considered me for this. For the position Bartholomew will be taking. I just need to prove to her…” He took a deep breath. “I can prove to both of you that I belong at operations. That I'm...Sam, I'll get my oak. I promise.”

Hearing Castiel vow he would reach the rank of major with time, hearing him promise to prove himself, it made Sam even sicker. “Cas, you've got nothing to prove. You're twice the Major that douche back at the bar is! But he's wearing the oak leaf and you're not! How is that fair?”

The voice was quiet, and Castiel still would not meet his gaze. “Sam, please don't be angry. You'll see. Just a few more months. Anael wants me to take on a little extra-”

“You're already doing twice as much as any-”

“I have twice as much to prove! I have to be twice as good!”

Sam sighed in frustration. “But why?”

“For one thing? Because I'm gay.” Castiel glared at the road. “Because I'm a good officer, but I have to show every single day that I'm not less capable, that I'm not less of an officer, less of a man. Less…” Frustration curled into a hoarse sob, and for the first time Sam could see how exhausted his husband was. “Less human,” he breathed. 

Sam's heart ruptured, washing him all over with hurt and anger. “Cas!” he hissed. 

But that one moment of weakness was over, and Castiel had taken on the look of quiet determination he always carried. “Sam, don't. I will be a major soon. And I'll do what I have to in order to get there. If I have to be twice the man just to show I'm not half, then so be it. The military isn't for men who want something easy. It's for men who want something meaningful. The insignia isn't why I do what I do. The pay grade either. I do everything, every day, to make you proud.”

His eyes closed in a flinch. 

They pulled into the drive, and Castiel put the car in park, then turned to touch Sam's face with gentle, calloused fingers. “So please don't worry about my rank. I promise you. I'm going to make you proud to be an officer’s spouse.”

Tears were streaming down Sam's cheeks now. “Cas, is it because of me? If-if you weren't married to me, would you be-”

“A general,” Castiel teased. “But I'm happier being your cadet.” He kissed Sam's nose. “Sam, my love, please don't worry. Come on. Let's get you to bed.”

“I have some scripts to go over,” he said vaguely. “You go ahead. I might sit out on the porch and read a while.”

That had been two seasons ago. Bartholomew had been shipped to Korea, and Sam couldn't help being grateful it wasn't Castiel. Wasn't that Bartholomew’s whole point? Sam was selfish. Sam was needy. And Castiel was unwilling to make the sacrifices needed to advance his career, because he always had to think of Sam. 

“You deserve more,” he murmured to the officer sleeping on his chest now. “And I can be more. You've been patient long enough.”


	2. Flow of the River

Castiel rose before his alarm, and reached for his husband. He sighed as he found the bed cold beside him. “Sam?”

When he got no response, he stood to begin preparing himself for his day. Though he was not expected in today, he was planning on a trip to the base to get paperwork done regarding the boots issued to his wing, which were not current regulation. Mistakes like that annoyed him. Perhaps another commander would not have noticed, but Castiel was meticulous. He preferred to take extra effort to be within code at all times than to have to spend the time to correct it after the fact. If others did the same, he wouldn't have to spend his time to return sixteen pairs of boots. 

This reminded him of Dean's predicament, and he cringed. It was his fault more than Sam's. He had found Sam at the computer with their credit cards spilled out around him, and his stomach had flipped. His husband had given him a nearly smug grin and informed him that the lock on their safe was entirely inadequate for someone with his determination. 

It was as though Sam expected him to be impressed and proud of the ability to break into their safe to gain access to credit that was locked away from him specifically. 

When Sam was in an episode, reality skewed so far off course that Sam could justify any action. The fact that Dean had supported his creative endeavors in the past was enough to give himself permission to apply for credit in his brother's name. At the time, during that manic stage, Sam would never see breaking into their safe as going behind Castiel's back. He wouldn't see applying for that credit as burdening Dean. It was incomprehensible to him that his husband and his brother would not support his actions. It would not occur to Sam that his actions would even need supporting. 

So it was up to Castiel, and he had failed this time. That had been October, as the new fiscal year was beginning, and he had been preoccupied with assisting the director of operations, a position he coveted. He wanted to show the Colonel that he could handle large scale operations, that his talents were not limited to requisitions of boots for a single wing. He had proven himself on combat operations, again and again. He had to show ability with larger scale. 

And so he had shredded their credit cards, and hoped for the best. 

Castiel closed his eyes in the shower, let the water beat into him that he had screwed up yet again. He had failed Sam, and Dean had paid for it this time, literally. And worst was what Sam was going to do to himself with guilt. 

Diligence, he screamed inside his head. How can you handle large operations if you get blindsided by something at every turn? 

What if it weren't money? What if Sam had been hurt because Castiel had been distracted? Others might not understand. They would say that Sam was a grown man, that he alone was responsible for his actions, but Castiel knew that wasn't the whole truth. Loving someone meant accepting some responsibility for them, even just emotionally. Just as a cancer diagnosis would never tear Sam from Castiel's side, this lifelong mental illness was part of Castiel's life and love, and he would never regret taking on that mission, not for a moment. 

He stared into the mirror as he finished shaving. “I need to remind him of that,” he scolded himself. 

As soon as he was dressed, and he had straightened the bedroom and bathroom as per his automatic routine, he stepped out in search of his husband. 

He took a deep breath. “General? Ready for inspection, sir!” he called down the hall. 

Just as he was beginning to wonder if Sam had headed to the theatre without a word to him, his lover called back from his small office, “Front and center, Cadet!”

Castiel smiled softly. God, he loved that man. He rounded the corner to find Sam tapping out a rhythm on his calendar with a pencil’s eraser. “There you are. Thought you had disappeared.”

Sam stood and took hold of him in a crushing embrace. “I'm taking us to breakfast to celebrate.”

Some days, Castiel felt a little like a small, determined stone in a rush of constantly changing waters. “I don't...What are we celebrating?”

“My new title.”

Blue eyes blinked at him. 

Sam's grin was sunshine like it could only be seen while flying above the clouds. It took Castiel's breath away every time, after all these years. “Professor.”

He nodded slowly. “You're going to teach another night course? You haven't done that for-”

“No. Not a night course. The university has been on me to take on a faculty position. I called the department this morning, and I'll have three courses beginning this semester, and be full time by summer.”

It was hard to breathe suddenly. He stared at Sam. “Sam! You-but we talked about this! Your job at the theatre-”

The man looked down at him with stubborn defiance. “It isn't enough. It doesn't pay enough, it isn't steady enough.”

“But I don't understand! You've had steady work there or at a nearby venue for years! And the pay-”

“Isn't enough.”

Castiel shook his head. “I'll get this promotion, Sam, and the money will come with it. You don't have to-”

“What? Do my part? Be a full partner in this marriage? Because I think I do. I've been considering a move to the university for a long time, and I need to do it.”

“I want you to be happy.” It came out as a breathless, desperate croak. He couldn't help feeling that he had failed Sam somehow. 

But the man smiled at him, and reached down to kiss him gently. “Cas, look. Doing what I do...That was never going to be forever. And you're right-No, listen. Don't shake your head at me. You're right that my meds aren't keeping me stable the way they should. And that's got a lot to do with my lifestyle. We know that. But you will never tell me no, my love. You will never say enough is enough. You'll never put your foot down. For years, we've pretended I can handle this lifestyle, and I just can't. I was up all night Tuesday making notes in a script, and then I was up all night again Friday because of the wrap party.”

Castiel lowered his eyes. 

“Yeah. See? You know I shouldn't be living like this. You know lack of sleep and stress at this level sets me into a tailspin. But I get high off the adrenaline, and I can't reel myself back in, and before we know it, I've tripped into a manic episode, and I'm hurting myself and everyone I love. It's been a wild ride, Cas, but it's time to grow up and admit that I can't have everything.”

Emotion was choking him terribly. “But...but if I just…”

“No! Cas, look at this! I've got my husband trained to think if I mess up, it's his fault! How is that healthy? For either of us? It's past time I made this move. And now that I have? I feel good about it!”

His eyes raised in fear, searching for a sign that Sam was being less than honest. “Do you?”

Sam began to laugh. He pulled his husband by the hands to sit on the small couch which was usually buried under fabrics and color swatches, mountains of scripts and random props. Sam had cleared it all off while Castiel was still asleep. “Cadet, the theatre department at the school has been after me for a long time. The chair had called me again back in November to say they were looking at another fulltime opening. I guess he thinks having me on staff will save their dismal productions. And let's be clear. It will.”

At last, Castiel laughed too, even as he felt a tear of defeat slip down his cheek. “Of course it will.”

Sam kissed the tear away. “Babe, this isn't a failure, not for either of us. I'm finishing this season strong, and I've helped them cast the next production, and they'll be fine. I'll consult for this show if they need some help. But the semester begins in two weeks.”

New worry lines creased the captain’s forehead. “Can you be ready in time? Sam, if this is just adding to your stress-”

“Sh. I'm fine. I called and asked if they still wanted me, and they started scrambling. It was good for my ego. They already have an adjunct for Spring, and were putting off hiring a full professor till they had to. So they just opened three new sections. It's Musical Theatre, Cas. I could teach it in my sleep.”

Admiration and adoration beamed from Castiel in waves. “I know you could. But you won't. You'll put everything you have into it.”

Sam winked. “I've got plans,” he confessed.

“Tell me.”

“Breakfast!”

But Castiel grabbed him before he could flee the room, and put his arms around him. “Tell me?” he cried. 

Sam's laughter made his husband's heart ache. It was what he lived for, day in and out. “It's a musical theatre workshop for junior and senior undergrads. So obviously I'm going to make them write and produce a one-act show using only lines that Barbara Streisand’s and Judy Garland’s characters have said, and using music only from David Bowie’s albums. And it must be social commentary in some form.”

Castiel stared. 

“I'm considering allowing for Elizabeth Taylor lines as well, but only if they're said in a believable accent.”

“Sam? Are you sure you should be allowed to influence the next generation?”

The laugh was back. “I'm just messing with you, Captain.” His grin turned wicked. “It will be a semester of musical theatre improv. Learning to critique and take criticism, mostly. After they've had theory pounded into them for three years, they need the chance to create, and take a tumble, and get back up again.” He tugged on Castiel's arm. “I just got a minuscule raise, a steady salary, and my own retirement plan. I'm a real grownup. Let me buy you breakfast.”

“You know you didn't have to do any of this.”

“Cas?” he sighed. “Please. I'm excited about this move, but I'm also seeing my professional stage management and production career pass before my eyes. Please be excited with me. This was the right thing to do, and I'm glad I've done it. Don't ask me to defend my choice to give up what I've worked so hard for. Just please be excited for me.”

The captain took a deep breath and nodded. He was almost glad Sam was acknowledging that a part of this hurt. That meant that the decision had been made with a clear mind. Castiel took his hand. Paperwork about boots could wait. “Tell me more about critiquing improvisation. How does that even work?”

Relief splashed Sam's face, and the gorgeous smile was back again, and the brilliant man rambled about pushing students out of their comfort zones in safe spaces before the world did it to them without a net below, all the way to the cafe.


	3. Perseverance of the Roots

The slide came just as the semester was at its midterm break. Dean was the first to notice. 

“Sammy?” He cleared his throat. “You tired, man?”

Sam frowned. He realized he was staring at his desk without seeing anything. He glanced back at the computer screen where his brother was staring at him with those sharp green eyes. “Yeah, a little. We did midterms this week, and next week is spring break for the kids, so I'm just going to…” His voice faded off. 

Dean nodded. “Okay, little brother. Look, your speech is slowing down, okay? And-and you ain't focusing right. You know?”

“I'm fine.” He ran his hand over his face wearily. “Just adjusting to different patterns. It's not a big deal.”

“Okay. Just take care of yourself. You been pretty stable for almost six months, since you bought me a bunch of theatre crap I didn't ask for, with credit I didn't have.”

Sam cringed. “God, I'm so sorry.”

His brother laughed quietly. “Hey, all’s well that ends well, right?”

He closed his eyes, and his growing headache refused to let them open again. “Dean, you had to go through your refinancing all over again, and I still owe you four hundred dollars for that light box you couldn't return.”

“Nah. I sold it online for four fifty. Made a profit on it. All good.”

That should have been a relief, but instead, Sam flinched again. “Jesus, Dean. Why don't you ever just yell at me? Seriously! Why do you insist on pretending that I'm not more trouble than I've ever been worth?”

“Whoa. Sammy-”

He forced his eyes open again. “It's Sam,” he snapped. “And you're right. I'm tired. Goodnight.”

“Sam, wait-”

The laptop closed a little too forcefully, cutting off whatever his brother had to say. Sam sighed into the empty room. All he wanted in the world was to sleep. He was too tired to even think of anything else. 

Dean had been the only one until Castiel had come around. Their father John had never understood. To his credit, the man had tried, when he was sober enough. But when Sam was nineteen, they had finally come to blows, with poor Dean in the middle of it all. 

John had been drinking, and that hadn't started things on a good note. Sam had been emerging from an exhausting mixed episode at the time, though he hadn't known to call it that then. So he had come home from school for a few days, and had slept most of the time he was there. When he had finally surfaced, John had lit into him without warning. 

“Dad, back off,” Dean murmured. 

John had snorted. “College boy doesn't need you fighting his battles for him, Dean. And I want an answer. Where do you get off coming into my house past two on a Wednesday morning, and sleeping like it's your damn job till Saturday evening? Without so much as a hey, dad, can I help with anything?”

Sam had swallowed hard. “I'm sorry, sir. I was sick.”

“You ain't sick. You're lazy! You think because you're riding free over at school that you can come here and expect to be waited on hand and foot?”

Anger flashed in his eyes. “I haven't asked you for anything. I just needed to crash for a few days. I'm leaving in the morning.” 

“Well, Dean, we should be happy to be graced by his highness at all this trip!”

“Dad, stop. He wasn't in good shape when he came in-”

John pushed his own bottle of Jack aside. “Drunk? That what this is? You were drunk, and spent all this time hung over? Just as well you didn't put on coveralls. Might've puked under one of my customer’s hoods. Lazy, spoiled-”

“I was sick!” Sam shouted. “I've been sick for a while, and if you weren't so hung over yourself, you might've noticed!”

His father stood on unsteady legs. “You're not sick,” he said again. “You're a flaming drama queen. Everything's gotta be about Sam, don't it? Whole world revolves around little Sammy. Always has. Selfish attention whore. As if being a freaking queer wasn't enough to get attention.”

Dean's eyes were wide. “Dad!”

Sam listened with equal parts shame and fury filling the dark voids in his soul, which he had fought against the whole week through. 

“True, ain't it, Sammy? I did all I could to raise you boys right. And when you told me you were a deviant, well, I did what I could to love you anyway. I don't like it, but I can live with that. It's being a lazy drama queen that I can't stand-”

Sam cut him off with a hook to his jaw, sending the older man sprawling over the kitchen floor. “Don't worry about it,” he growled. “I won't ever come here looking for a place to land again. Count on that.”

But as he turned to storm away, John recovered his feet and yanked him by the shoulder, whirling him back around. 

“Dad! Sam, stop!”

John shoved his younger son against the wall, slamming his head. “You walk out of here right now, you better never come back, you ungrateful little brat.”

Sam snarled at him, even as angry tears burst from his eyes. “Believe me, I won't. You and your all-American son can live your damn apple pie life, and you don't have to worry about the flaming drama queen complicating things.”

“Sammy, wait!” Dean called after him. 

His brother caught up with him at the car. He was tossing his backpack into the passenger seat when Dean grabbed his arms. “Let me go.”

“Sammy-”

“It's Sam. Okay? I've told you for years. It's Sam. And if this is going to be our last...You can at least give me that. It's literally the only thing I've ever asked from you.” Tears poured down his face in a river of anger and hurt. 

Dean grabbed him up in his arms and held on tightly, till Sam finally relented and sobbed into his shoulder. “It's okay. I got you, little brother. He's wrong. We both know he's wrong. Maybe even he knows. It doesn't matter, because I got you.”

“I'm so sorry, Dean,” he wept. “I'm so sorry. I can't make it stop. I spent the-the past few days just-just so tired I couldn't really sleep. Just-just staring, and I couldn't make myself come out till I knew you'd be asleep, and couldn't make myself eat, and...and I'm still so tired.”

“I know. I know.”

“I hit Dad.”

“Yeah. He’ll live. And, Sam, he's so drunk right now that he don't know what he's saying. He won't probably even remember it in the morning. Please. Don't-”

“He meant it. He's the one slamming the door. Maybe he would only say it while on Jack, but it's there, and I know it's there. Even if he doesn't know it in the morning, I will.”

Dean nodded, and sighed. He stepped back to look in Sam's eyes. “You were right, though. You're sick, man. I don't know why, and I don't know what we're going to do about it. But it ain't normal. You're not healthy. And I can't watch you suffer anymore. I'll deal with Dad. You gotta promise me you're going to get some help. Whatever it costs, I'll figure it out. Just promise me.”

“What if...Dean, what if it's just me? What if there's nothing wrong, and I'm just like this? What if this...what if it really is normal, and I'm just…” Lazy. Spoiled. Selfish. Dramatic, needy and unreliable. An embarrassment and a worthless mess. “What if I'm just like this?”

“Then I'm wrong, and it won't be the first time you got to say it. I'll take the chance.”

Sam nodded. “I didn't even tell Jess I was going home. Guess I better call her. Her buddy Brady already texted me twice, and I just haven't felt like answering.”

“You okay to drive?”

“Dude, I'm not drunk. I'm just stupid. And my hand hurts.” He opened the driver's door and stepped in, then looked back at his brother's pale face. “I meant it. I'm not coming back here.”

“I know. And I can't leave. Not yet. Dad needs me. But, Sammy, you ever need me, call me, and I'm already on my way. You hear me?”

He brushed his tears away, and nodded. “Thank you. I'm so sorry, Dean.”

“Stop being sorry. Like I said, Dad won't even remember. And you and me? We’re good. No matter what. We're good.”

Years later, he recognized his own symptoms, and knew he was spiraling down. Dean was right. Dean was always right. Dean was the only family he had outside of Castiel, the last thing rooting him in place. He was the only one who could withstand the storms, the changing winds and thrashing rain, the flood of emotion, as well as the painful droughts, when Sam couldn't feel anything at all, and wanted to bleed just to be sure he could. 

This was one of those times, and Dean had seen it at a glance through a computer screen. Sam would have to remember to thank him for never leaving, never breaking. But right now, he just wanted to sleep...


	4. Drought

Castiel had gotten on a plane within hours of Dean's phone call. 

“He's in a tailspin, man. You want me to-”

“No,” he said quietly. “No. I appreciate that. But I'm coming home tomorrow anyway. I may as well try to find an earlier flight.”

“Easier when you got your own wings, huh?”

Castiel smiled. “Much more difficult,” he corrected. “You don't take off or land or make any other movement without an order from the ground. One day, when I retire, I'm getting myself a tiny two-seater, and I'm going to fly whenever and wherever I want.”

“Sounds terrifying.”

“It's my heaven. So long as I have the right passenger.”

“Yeah. Well, for now? Your passenger is probably passed out under a mountain of blankets.”

He sighed. “I'll see if I can get that earlier flight. Thank you, Dean.”

“You need me, brother, you call. I'll be on my way.”

“We’re both lucky to have you.”

Dean laughed. “I gotta be good for something. Night, man.”

“Goodnight,” Castiel murmured, and hung up the phone. 

Now, a few hours later, he was sitting with his hands in his lap, staring down at them. He was in uniform, and the flight attendants had treated him with extra attention. He wished they wouldn't. A woman across the aisle had tried flirting with him, which was awkward and strange as it ever was for Castiel, and he had politely severed the conversation as quickly as he could. 

It was a wonder he had been able to pursue a relationship with Sam at all, considering how terrible at socializing Castiel sometimes was. 

He turned to smile out the window. Perhaps he wasn't the one flying, but he was above the ground, and that had its own sweetness to it. It gave him the chance to stare out at the sky without having to concentrate on keeping himself aloft, and he could sit back to enjoy his memories in peace. 

Sam had been a force of nature like Castiel had never known. Not even Gabriel could have kept up with him, Castiel thought with a tingle of quiet pride. And yet he himself had weathered every storm and emerged resolute and steadfast. 

The laughter had kept Castiel awake at night in the beginning. After a night of Sam's laughter, the quiet man had simply lay in bed, smiling into the darkness, with adoration growing in his heart. It was all he wanted in the world. He was addicted immediately. 

And still. 

The officer smiled out at the clouds. There was no way to describe how he loved Sam, except to say he worshipped him. He remained, even all these years later, entirely in awe of him. Others might have wondered at that, called it unhealthy, the way he adored this man so completely. But they couldn't understand. They couldn't know how special the man was, how entirely brilliant and beautiful. Dean was fiercely protective of his brother. He knew instinctively that Sam was something special. But even Dean couldn't know just how important, how extraordinary the man truly was. 

Many hours later, Castiel slipped into the bedroom, and sighed. “Sam?” he whispered. “How are you, my love?” He sat carefully on the side of the bed. His hand reached up to smooth sweaty hair from Sam's face. 

The eyes were open, but Castiel knew he couldn't focus on anything. He didn't even try to look at Castiel. But his face softened with relief fractionally. “You're here.”

“Of course I am. When did you last eat?”

But those two words were all Sam had, and he simply stared without seeing. 

Castiel nodded, and swallowed back his emotion. He kissed Sam's forehead. “I'm here,” he murmured. “Always, forever. Just rest, my love. I've got you.” The battle to get water into the man would need to begin soon. But for a few moments, he just needed to hold his face in one hand and stroke the hair with his other, to soothe the pain as well as he could.

It had been years since Sam's depression had weighed so heavily on him. It served to remind Castiel how lucky they had been, how much better things had been for so long. He smiled down at his general. 

“I love you so much, Sam,” he murmured. “I spent the whole night on the plane home wondering for the millionth time what I ever did to deserve you. There hasn't been a time in all these years that I haven't wanted to come home. Do you realize that? I thought-People said that would fade. It hasn't. I'm always a little excited to walk around a corner knowing you're in the next room. Maybe you think that's silly. But I'm happier when I can feel you nearby. When I can put my hand out and know you'll reach for it. When we're separated, I know exactly how you'll hug me when I come back, like I'm all that's ever mattered. And I am so grateful to be the one who gets to help you through times like this. I hate that you feel this way. But when you do, thank you for letting me hold you.”

At last, the tears began to fall, and this was a victory, because it meant Sam was hearing and feeling things again. Words meant something again. There was no sob, just the gentle flow of tears onto the hand beneath his lover's face, and a sigh to accompany them. 

“You are the best thing that's ever happened to me, every day. I'm so proud to be your husband. When we're out together, I know that others are completely baffled by us, that they are just as confused, about why a man like you is with a man like me, as I am. I know sometimes you would rather blend in, but, general, you stand out in the best way.” He laughed quietly. “That director, what was his name? Crowley? He didn't know who I was, and he was smoking outside the theatre while I waited for you that night.”

A blink and narrowing of Sam's eyes told him he was listening, holding onto Castiel's words like a lifeline. 

“He just started talking, and you know me, I just listened. Did I ever tell you what he said?”

Sam made no movement. 

“He said, you know, I was born to direct. And if I weren't so busy, I could have played the lead myself. But that stage manager is something else. He called you a denim-clad nightmare, and said you were the scariest manager he had ever worked with, and yet they all loved you so much it made him want to puke.”

The eyes lowered at last, and a tiny bit of relief curled Sam's lips on the left side. 

Castiel kissed his cheek. “And I let him talk about how annoying it was when he tried to command the cast and crew, and they only seemed to listen to you. I guess he thought I was a complete stranger, so it didn't matter what he said to me. But on a boring day, I like to picture you standing behind him while he's yelling at actors and you giving them that look that Dean always calls your bitchface, and Crowley thinking it's because of him that they're all jumping in line. Whenever I need a smile, that's what I think of.”

Sam didn't smile exactly, but he put effort into lifting his gaze to meet Castiel's. It lasted only a moment, but it was encouraging. 

“General? When did you last drink some water?”

“I didn't,” he breathed hoarsely. 

That was neither helpful nor heartening, but Castiel nodded. “Okay. I'm going to get you water. Will you try soup?” When he received a cringe, he hurried on. “Okay, that's okay. Water for now. Then I'll sit here and regale you with thrilling stories of my adventures at the Conference on Reconnaissance in the Asian-Pacific.”

He knew Sam was on an upward path when he gave him an odd look, and said, “CRAP? You went to a convention called CRAP?”

The officer laughed. “This is the same government that brought us the Symposium on Hezbollah, ISIS and Taliban. Hard to take serious matters seriously when you're carrying a clipboard that says SHIT at the top.”

Sam closed his eyes briefly. “You're here,” he sighed again. 

“Always. Forever.”

“I didn't want to bother you. Did I call you? What day is it?”

The officer let his tongue dart out to wet his lips. “Sam, you didn't call, and I wish you had. But we'll talk about that in a few days. It's Wednesday. And all that matters right now is that you and I have the rest of today and tomorrow off to just be. Together.”

“I like just being. Especially together.”

“I know. Me too.”

He took a breath, probably the deepest one his depression had allowed him to take in two days. “Cadet? I'll drink water. Then you'll hold me? Talk to me?”

“You know I will.”

“Thank you.”

It was all Sam had the energy for, but Castiel didn't mind. The effort it was taking Sam just to speak this much, just to interact at all, was extraordinary. Sam was the strongest man Castiel had ever known. It was his honor to hold him when he was using all his strength just to be. Castiel liked just being. Especially with Sam.


	5. Calm Waters

Sam was singing.

Castiel smiled to himself as he paused to listen.

“That my kid brother?”

He laughed quietly. “That's my husband,” he sighed in confirmation. Nothing said all was well quite like Sam singing show tunes as he walked in the door at night.

“Sammy!” Dean called.

The man continued murmuring the song as he entered the kitchen to kiss the top of Castiel's head. “Somehow I've fallen under your spell, and somehow I'm feeling it's up that I fell!”

Castiel gazed up at him in adoration. “Hello, Sam. Has it been a Wicked sort of day?”

He smirked. “Wicked awesome. Hey, old man,” he called to his brother on Castiel's screen.

“Shut up. He's almost my age. If I'm old, what's that make Cas?”

“A fine wine, big brother.”

Castiel rolled his eyes. “Possibly vinegar.”

Dean snorted. “Well, I'll be up on Saturday morning to help you celebrate.”

Sam glanced at Castiel. “Celebrate what?”

He smiled with shy pleasure. “Thank you, Dean.”

“You got it, man. See you soon, kiddo.”

As Dean hung up, Sam turned to stare. “Celebrate what, cadet?” he repeated.

Pride ached in his chest. “Sam, I'll be your cadet my whole life, and you'll always be my general. But everyone else will call me Major.”

Watching those hazel eyes light up made it all worth it. Every disappointment, every bit of extra effort, every lost hour of sleep, every scrap of paperwork. It was all worth it if Sam was proud of him.

“I've been promoted,” he added unnecessarily.

Sam burst into surprised laughter. “That's awesome! Cas, I'm so happy for you!”

“For us,” he corrected. “It's something we've worked for a long time to earn.”

His husband blinked at him. “You worked. You earned.”

Castiel took his hands. “No. Never. Everything I accomplish is because I've got you by my side. I'm Major because you're my family.”

Without warning, tears filled Sam's eyes. “But...Cas, all I've ever done is slow you down! If it weren't for me, you'd have been a Major long before now. Even Bart said-”

The blue stare narrowed dangerously. “Bart said what?”

Sam swallowed and took a breath. “Nothing.” But his voice was hoarse, and laced with guilt.

A fierce protectiveness rose up in Castiel's heart, and his nostrils flared as he snarled. “What did that bastard say to you?”

There was shock on Sam's face now. “It wasn't a big deal, Cas. And I thought you two were friends.”

He snorted. “Friends. Sam, Dean is my friend. You are my friend. Beyond that, I have no one.”

It looked as though he had slapped Sam across the face. “That's not true-”

“Of course it is. No one knows anything about me. Except you and your brother. I've been sorry every time I've opened up to anyone in my life. There's no one I can talk to but Dean. No one but you two I want to tell when something good happens. No one I want to be with when something bad happens. And that used to bother me. But it doesn't anymore.”

“I don't understand.”

“Sam, I have people in my life whose company I truly enjoy, and who seem to enjoy my company. And sometimes that's considered friendship. But at the end of the day, they don't think about me, and I don't think about them, and I would fight with my life to protect them, but they know nothing about how my heart and head work. Bartholomew is a selfish, ambitious prick. I'll fight by his side. He's an able man. But I'd have to check my bed for snakes if I stayed in a barracks with him.”

“But...but you took him out for drinks when he was promoted over you!”

“Of course I did.” He frowned. “Sam? What did that man say to you? Did he say you were slowing my climb in the ranks somehow?”

Sam pulled off his sports coat slowly as he worked things out in his head. “Yeah. I mean...Yeah. He said I must be trying to keep you from getting your oak leaf because I wanted you to stay where you were. That he had me to thank for his promotion, because you were the better man for the job, but the brass didn't think they could rely on you because...because you always drop everything when I need you.”

Castiel felt a rage filling him. He tried to take a deep breath to calm himself. “You should have told me,” he murmured in a controlled tone.

“Cas, I'm already a complete anchor! I weigh you down! Why add to it by whining that-”

“Whining!” Castiel found that those words hurt as badly as if they were being said about him. He shook his head with disbelief. “Sam, whining? Telling me that another officer is attacking my husband isn't whining!”

“He wasn't attacking me! He was pointing out something I should have realized myself, and might have if I weren't so preoccupied with myself. I need you too much. And too often. A few weeks back, you left that conference early, didn't you?”

“No! I just left at night instead of waiting till morning!”

“But you would have!”

Castiel took another breath, but this time it exploded back out in a frustrated shout. “Of course I would have! Sam, you are my family! And that is what I live and work for. That's what I've fought for. I haven't always been here. You've been through two wars, Sam! Deployments, transfers, life changes without notice! Fuck yes, I'm going to come when you need me while I'm home! Do you know what it's like to know it's Dean checking on you when I'm overseas? To know you're hurting and I can't be with you?”

“Cas-”

He threw his hand up to stop him. “No. Wait. Please listen.”

Sam gave him a fond smile that he didn't understand, but waited.

“Sam, it's hard on a military spouse. Okay? It's hard knowing I'm on a mission.”

Those lovely eyes lowered now. “Yeah. Real hard.”

Castiel sighed, and took Sam's hand again, and lead him to the dining table to sit. “Well, then, imagine what it's like knowing you're in an episode and I'm not there to watch over you. Okay? When I'm about to fly a mission, even a routine one, don't you worry?”

“Always,” he breathed.

“And don't I have just as much right to worry about my husband as you do yours? You're everything to me. And as for Bart?” He snorted irritably. “Colonel Anael said I needed to bide my time regarding my promotion.”

Sam's head shot up. “What? You mean...You mean she told you she delayed your promotion?”

“She knew the next Major with logistical experience was going to Asia. She wants me here. You want me here. I want me here. So she was waiting for the right time. When I took Bart for drinks, it was mostly to celebrate the fact that he was going to be sent to Korea instead of me. He just didn't know it yet.”

“But...but you said…”

“I said I have to work harder, because it's true. But I've worked harder for a long time, and my Colonel has noticed. She wants me on her team, at the base here, not shipped somewhere else. I'm going to be her logistics commander here.”

“That's what you've wanted!”

Castiel smiled at last. “Sam, remember me explaining that what I do isn't all that different from what you do as a stage manager? The theatre is different, but the job is the same. I direct resources and analyze current and near future material requirements of the wings under my command. Now I'll do it for the base as a whole. Every base needs that. That one in Korea needs it. But so does this one. By delaying, Colonel did me a favor. Sam, I want to be with you. There may come a time when we have to move again, or be separated again. But if I can be with you when you need me, I will be.”

Sam nodded slowly. “I'm sorry.”

“Sam, please. You're not my anchor. You're my life force. You're my inspiration. You're my everything.”

“I don't want to be a burden. Not on you, not Dean. I want you to be able to rely on me like I lean on you. I'm…” He took a breath and closed his eyes. “I'm so terrified that I'm drowning you.”

“No.” Castiel leaned forward and kissed each eye gently. “No, my love. You're my river.”

Sam looked up and frowned. “What?”

“You're my river. You're not drowning me. You're what makes me feel alive. You're energy and brilliance just flowing all around me, and everything I feel comes from you. I'm your stone. I won't be washed away. I'll always be there for you to hold onto in a storm. And don't forget your brother. It's a small family, but it's all we need. He's your roots, to remind you you're loved, remind you who you are, and to help support me. It's how I've thought of us for years.”

His river let tears flow down his cheeks. “I love you, Castiel.”

“I love you, Sam. All of you. Every part that makes you my general. Let the storms come. We've been there before, and we will always weather them together.” He put their foreheads together gently.

Sam sniffed, then began to smile. “You know what this means,” he murmured.

Castiel smiled too. He knew exactly what this meant. He'd been waiting all day.

“Penzance!”

“Penzance,” he laughed.

“We are the very model of a modern major and general,” Sam began at the top of his voice.

Castiel sighed happily. Nothing said all was well quite like Sam singing show tunes, especially when he changed the lyrics to suit him.


End file.
